


Anstrengungen erhöhen die Körpertemperatur

by Cherrytreegirl



Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [7]
Category: Das Boot (TV 2018)
Genre: (actually my friend wanted to read the spicy part), M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smut, WW2, enemies to not enemies with benefits, i have no idea what the fuck i'm doing sorry, i'm doing it anyway lol, lol, no beta we die like Sam Greenwood, remember how i said im not writing smut?, slight dom/sub undertones, them bitches horny baby, they're both pissy so i made them fuck it out, well its sorta implied but ya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29306826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrytreegirl/pseuds/Cherrytreegirl
Summary: Do they ever not fight? Maybe, but not in my story!
Relationships: Klaus Hoffmann/Karl Tennstedt
Series: Es gibt viele Faktoren die das Leben beeinflussen können [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118996
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Anstrengungen erhöhen die Körpertemperatur

**Author's Note:**

> Huha! Part 7!   
> I know I said I wasn't writing smut, but hey, do I ever stick to things I say? (I also felt a bit bad for what I did to y'all in the last part...)
> 
> Anyway! Enough from me, have fun :D

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a bright light.

Was this heaven?

He’d never expected to end up there, he’d done plenty bad things in his (rather short) time, committed enough sins for more than one person, surely enough to reserve him a nice little place in hell.

But then again, he didn’t necessarily believe in God.

No, this wasn’t heaven.

Hoffmann’s eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding brightness and he found himself staring into the endless blue sky above him.

He wasn’t lying on a cloud either.

He was in a rubber boat.

In that damned rubber boat.

He was alive.

Most definitely alive, judging by the burning sensation in his throat and lungs.

Gradually feeling trickled back into his body, or most of his body anyway. He couldn’t feel his right arm, something heavy was lying on it, cutting off or at least reducing circulation and making it feel numb.

A cough was creeping up in his throat, he turned onto his side to the best of his abilities, letting it out. It felt thick, uncomfortable, and took several attempts to get rid of, once he did though, he wasn’t surprised to find water, seawater more precisely, in his mouth.

He had no problems remembering this night whatsoever, at least up to the moment he passed out obviously, and he felt a lot better than one might expect after nearly drowning.

How exactly Tennstedt had managed to get both of them back into the boat (judging by the wetness of the other man's clothing he had jumped into the water too) was puzzling to Hoffmann, but he was impressed. A limp body was (or at least felt) noticeably heavier, especially in soaking wet clothes.

Tennstedt had, and Hoffmann hated to admit it, saved his life once again. The man really was incredibly stubborn.

Deep down in his gut he felt unbelievably guilty, he’d been a real asshole yesterday but still the 1WO had, once again, risked his own life to save him. The weight atop his arm suddenly began to shift, Tennstedt had lain down on it, likely to prevent Hoffmann from trying to jump off the boat again as soon as he regained consciousness.

He really would have liked to sit up, but although slowly feeling was returning into his numb arm, the stirring 1WO hadn’t quite released it yet.

Instead, he turned his head to face his “saviour” who was already intently, and quite angrily, staring at him.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Hoffmann.” He wanted to argue, out of reflex, but stopped himself.

“That’s fair.”

“Where’d you even get that idea, huh? Jumping of the bloody boat in the middle of the fucking night like a coward.”

“I feel like you’re going to quote my father at me again. How Aussichtslosigkeit isn’t a fact.” It was an attempt to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work.

Tennstedt still looked furious.

“I- it’s just…” The words didn’t quite want to come out. “After yesterday’s argument, I thought…”

What exactly had he thought? He wasn’t able to say what it was, wasn’t able to convey the hopelessness he’d felt. Somehow it had been a logical conclusion, they were good as dead, their supplies would run out and they’d perish, slowly, painfully.

“You actually thought? Unbelievable.” Hoffmann wanted to chuckle at that, but the 1WO’s expression advised him not to.

“Thought what, exactly? That I’d appreciate you throwing yourself into the fucking ocean after I put my own goddamn life on the line to keep you alive? Do you think this is fun to me, bastard?”

“Yea, I didn’t think of that.”

“Of course you didn’t, fucker.”

“Will you let go of my arm now?”

“No?!”

“I need to piss.” That was a big, fat lie, but it was worth a try.

“I don’t care.”

“Should I pee on you then?”

“I’ll personally rip your dick off if you even dare to try.”

“Then let me go.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do it. I’m peeing on you, man.”

“Go ahead.”

“Oh, so you’re just waiting to see my dick, or something?” Hoffmann cringed the second the words left his mouth.

He should NOT have said that.

“WHAT?!” Tennstedt rose, his face even more livid than before.

“Do you think you’re so attractive that everyone just absolutely wants to get in your pants? That just because we’ve been out here for a few days I’m desperate enough to want to fuck you, huh? I’d like some of your confidence, you seem to have some to spare, Milchbubi!”

“No, that’s not, I-,“ Hoffmann stuttered, also sitting up whilst rubbing the life back into his newly freed arm.

“That’s not what you meant? Tell me then, what WERE you trying to say?”

“I didn’t want to say anything! It just, kind of, slipped out?”

“Aha, so you didn’t want to say it. But you still thought it!”

“So WHAT? Huh? What’s your problem with me?” He felt yesterday’s anger welling up in his chest again. “Whatever I do, it’s never right! I don’t sink a ship; you complain and start a mutiny.” Hoffmann knew that Wrangel had started it, but that was hardly important right now, and it wouldn’t have helped in proving his point. “You have the chance to get rid of me, twice!, but you refuse to, twice!. Instead, you get all pissy and blame me for your misery again. May I remind you, my dear, that just yesterday you complained to me about how I didn’t just up and let go of the fact that you fucking KISSED me, but now you’re absolutely refusing to forget about ONE LITTLE THING I SAID. ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE WHO’S ALLOWED TO MAKE MISTAKES?”

Tennstedt didn’t reply, he just directly stared at Hoffmann. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched, his whole body tense, similarly to a cat preparing to attack.

Mentally, Hoffmann was prepared for anything, being punched, insulted, dunked into the water. He saw movement across from him and closed his eyes out of reflex, bracing for impact.

Tennstedt had lunged forward and now he was waiting for hands around his throat or possibly punches raining down on his face.

None of the like came though. It felt like time had slowed down, or perhaps his brain was simply lagging behind, but it felt like a minute had passed already and he was still waiting for some sort of impact.

When it finally came though, it almost threw him backwards. Tennstedt crashed into him, hard, and he was sure he tasted blood on his lip.

But what he currently felt, pressed against his mouth, wasn’t knuckles.

The contact was way too long for an aimed punch, and usually one would aim for the nose or an eye, maybe the jaw, but straight into the mouth? No, not a very common target.

It wasn’t the rough skin of a hand, not the cold, almost sticky feeling of leather either. No, this was much softer. Warm, wet, tasted of iron (his blood, he supposed).

And it seemed to fit against his mouth perfectly.

It was another pair of lips.

To say he melted into it wouldn’t be the appropriate description in that situation. There was no real gentleness to the kiss, it wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t romantic. It was more like electricity, like lightning running down his spine. It was rough, it was aggressive, it was hungry.

They were tearing into one another like wild beasts that had been starving for days (not literally, of course, they weren’t actually trying to EAT each other). Tennstedt had grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and for a moment he thought the seams would give in if the man pulled just a bit harder. Hoffmann himself had buried his fingers in the 1WO’s short hair, holding on as if his life depended on it, tugging ever so often and coaxing low moans from the man’s throat.

He couldn’t surpass the moans either when Tennstedt let go of his lips and attacked every reachable part of his neck instead. His breath was hot against the sensitive skin. There was barely any wind now, the sun burning down on them, as always, no clouds in sight.

Hoffmann felt his own body temperature rising, there were definitely to many layers of clothing here. It took no real convincing, merely a gentle pull and Tennstedt’s jacket came off, his own following suit.

Although he quite enjoyed being on the receiving end of Tennstedt’s thorough care, he was quickly starting to get bored of being merely a canvas for the man’s art of small purple bruises left by the repeated sucking and biting. With a firm hand placed on the other man’s chest, he pushed him against the stiff walling of their lifeboat, putting himself on top instead. He may not be able to command a crew of fifty-odd men, but achieving dominance over one man was child’s play to him.

Especially if that man so happened to be Karl Tennstedt, the man was butter between his fingers.

Judging by the pressure he felt against his ass, the 1WO seemed to be enjoying this change of pace, unless of course, the crew had left him with a gun in his pocket. He’d let his head roll back, eyes shut, droplets of sweat glueing dark strands of hair to his forehead.

Well, that was unacceptable, Hoffmann was putting on such a nice show and Tennstedt wasn’t even looking!

Quite roughly he grabbed the man’s jaw with one hand and forcing it up again. “Don’t you dare look away.”

The dark glare in Tennstedt’s eyes was a sight to behold.

“Yes sir.” His voice, low and hoarse as he spoke, fingers digging deep into Hoffmann’s hips. He felt the eagerness, the hunger, practically radiating off the 1WO, skin on fire, longing for contact. Without hesitation he grabbed the man’s jumper, pulling it upwards and urging him to slip it off. Tennstedt complied immediately, tearing it off as if he’d waited to get rid of it all his life and returning his hands to rest back on Hoffmann’s hips, venturing ever so slightly upwards to slide under the many layers of wool and cotton (it wasn’t actually very many, three in total, but that was too many right now).

It was quite clear the 1WO wanted more, more skin, more contact, so why not drag it out a little longer? He already was desperate, why not turn him into a begging mess?

Hoffmann swatted the man’s hands away and, almost painfully slow, pulled up the heavy knit.

The second it was off he was pushed onto his back, Tennstedt crawling on top of him, Jesus that man was impatient!

Although he too wanted to finally go further this kind of misbehaviour was not acceptable. The 1WO had leaned down to kiss him once again but was now met with a firm grip against his throat.

“Not like this, young man.” He pushed against the hand, trying to get lower, but the fingers only tightened.

“Are you going to behave?”

No reply came.

Hoffmann pressed a little harder, Tennstedt’s eyes glossy and half shut.

“Yes sir.”

He flipped them over again, grabbing Tennstedt’s wrists and pinning them over his head with one hand. With his other hand he carefully traced along the collar if the 1WO’s shirt, he was still wearing the Ritterkreuz, it rested heavily in Hoffmann’s palm. Back home they would be shot for what they were doing right now, the cold metal suddenly felt hot, burning itself into his skin. He pushed it aside and started unbuttoning Tennstedt’s shirt instead.

The thin fabric of his undershirt which was now sticking to the 1WO’s body left little to the imagination, the man was built like a Greek god whose name Hoffmann couldn’t remember for the life of him, not as long as he felt the firm muscle under him and Tennstedt was staring at him from under his lashes like THAT. His eyes pleading, utterly helpless, soft like butter under his touch.

No, there definitely wasn’t enough blood in his brain for thinking right now.

Punishment be damned, he was getting impatient too, he needed more right now.

Hoffmann let go of the man’s wrists and pulled him up into a sloppy kiss instead, letting Tennstedt’s hands make quick work of the many buttons on his shirt and shrugging it off hastily. He couldn’t help but sigh as he felt hot breath against the sensitive skin of his collarbones, the stubble on his chin scratchy, the 1WO’s lips gentle, his teeth not as much, even less the fingers that were practically digging into his back.

He let his head fall against the firm shoulder, panting hard, what was that about being in control? He was completely melted, or his brain at least, his cock was rock hard and his pants way too tight. All he could do now was grasp Tennstedt’s short hair like it was his lifeline, trying to keep his grip on reality.

It was a tangle of limbs, it was sweaty and messy, hot and sticky.

It was everything Klaus Hoffmann despised about sex.

But currently, he couldn’t even tell apart up and down, he really did not care in the least. All that mattered to him at this moment was, that it better not end any time soon.

Some of the crew from the U-612 compared an orgasm to shooting off a torpedo and having it hit the target perfectly, but that didn’t even come close to the ecstasy which was cursing through his veins right now.

Not even the strongest psychedelic drug would be able to induce a haze that pushed him over the edge as Karl Tennstedt did, his vision white and his brain a melted puddle.

When it was over, they collapsed into one another, panting and drenched in sweat.

It took them a while to recover enough to redress, but once they did, they did so fast. Either the wind had set in recently or they simply hadn’t noticed before, but it was ice cold against their skin and left them shivering.

Hoffmann had never gotten dressed so quickly in his life, this type of weather forcing him down from his post-coital high really hadn’t been necessary, but he didn’t particularly fancy the idea of catching a second round of pneumonia either, thank you very much.

Once he looked presentable again, surprisingly none of their clothes had gone overboard, he wondered if he should say anything to Tennstedt about what had just happened. It wasn’t every day that he slept with someone he was barely acquainted with someone other people would call an enemy even.

However, the other man had already given in to his exhaustion, making the decision for him.

As much as he would have liked to admire the sleeping man’s relaxed expression, his post-coital glow, he felt himself getting drowsy too, the adrenaline finally wearing out.


End file.
